


The Woman Who Fell to Samwell (or Something)

by BrosleCub12



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Doctor Who
Genre: Aliens, Crossover, Gen, Mid-Canon, Post Regeneration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:12:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16169621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrosleCub12/pseuds/BrosleCub12
Summary: There have been many things that Bitty’s found strange about being at Samwell. The boys’ unconditional acceptance of him for exactly who he is; Johnson’s random murmurings about stuff he’s thought about in the crease; and the fact that after initially not liking Jack, he’s managed to go and fall in love with him.But then a woman in a ripped, red velvet jacket and a British accent turns up at Samwell, talking about something called a TARDIS and whatever remaining rules the Haus had for maintaining normality (not that there were many to begin with) get thrown out of the window.





	The Woman Who Fell to Samwell (or Something)

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note** This fic was actually started about six months ago and probably would have made more sense then than it will now, now that Jodie Whittaker's debut as Thirteen is about to air, but due to a massively busy summer season at work, I was unable to finish it before the first previews came out. Although I tried to change it to keep in line with the previews, it just didn't work and got more and more complicated. So, I decided to stick to the original draft, which was relatively simple and a heck of a lot more fun to write. It's very late in the day, but I hope you still enjoy it. 
> 
> A huge bucketful of thanks goes to the incomparable twisted-miracle; they're currently beta'ing another fic of mine and when I mentioned this one, immediately offered to beta for me, and did an absolutely splendid job. I honestly don't think I would have published this fic at all if it wasn't for TM's guidance. I don't own Check Please or Doctor Who - they're the property of Ngozi and the BBC, respectively.

* * *

The first few days after the Frozen Four are a blur of recovery, of returning home to Samwell and the very quiet acceptance from everyone that this is it: the season is over, hockey is done for the year and for Shitty and Jack, this was the last game ever played. For Bitty, it feels like a hurdle jumped over, bodily – the last game is past, not victorious but fought for with ferocity until the bitter end and now they’re racing frantically towards May, towards the end of the year, towards Jack’s graduation and subsequent departure. Bitty won’t be able to see him every day and the thought kills him.

He tries not to dwell on it, pulls a pie out of the oven that he’s just managed not to burn (he swears Betsy is getting worse and worse) and decides to call his mother as he leaves the pie on the counter to cool. Jack strolls past the doorway, calling in a casual greeting, as Bitty scrolls through his contacts.

‘All good, Bittle?’ he stops and gives him a friendly look; a little more together now and far less haunted than he was when Bitty found him on that loading dock back at the stadium, his C jersey stripped off and sobbing into his hands.

Bitty had stayed with him for a long time that night and when it was time to go home, had sat with him on the bus. He had felt peculiar about it, wondered if he was stepping a line that only Shitty could cross, but Shitty had simply smiled kindly at them over his head-rest and left them be. The rest of the team, realising that Jack had needed space, had followed suit.

They haven’t mentioned it since, apart from a mumbled, sobbed _thank you_ that had crossed Jack’s lips at some point, which Bitty had dismissed as unnecessary. ‘That’s what friends are for, honey,’ he had comforted and Jack had smiled a little, through the tears, rested his head against Bitty’s and that had been that.

Sometimes, though, it feels like there’s a slight elephant in the room with the two of them. A cute baby elephant, utterly harmless, dressed in sky-blue bows and waving its little trunk with a sign around its neck that reads: _‘Look at me, aren’t I adorable?’_ but an elephant nevertheless.

‘All good, Jack,’ he assures, waving his phone. ‘Just gonna call Mama.’

‘Oh, okay. Say hi to her from me,’ Jack replies and ambles away. Bitty watches him go as he slips out of the kitchen and out of the front door of the house, reminding himself to breathe and not make an idiot of himself. Sitting on the front porch steps in the relative warmth of April, the first promise of summer, he takes a moment to calm himself before he dials his mother’s number.

‘Dicky, honey,’ his mother greets three seconds later and Bitty can’t help beaming at the soothing reassurance, an anchor in all the strange, painful movements of his heart over the last few months.

The call is full of all the usual, lovely pleasantries; Bitty looks out at the clear night sky as he and his Mama discuss the usual pastry methods, how Daddy is and how Moomaw’s coping with her aches and pains. Bitty asks about church and his Mama tells him all about the latest gossip. She mentions a few names that Bitty recognises from school – names that are not nice, people who have apparently recently joined the congregation. Bitty finds himself grasping his knee, hard, as his Mama asks he remembers any of them.

‘Neil Jones?’ she presses. ‘D’you remember him? I think he was in the year above you, wasn’t he? He’s in the choir, now.’

‘I think so,’ he says, trying not to sound distant, aiming for nonchalant and probably failing. It’s hard to forget Neil Jones’ name when he was one of the kids who used to shove him in the hallway, mutter names under his breath whenever Bitty passed. Going to church now, is he? His parent’s church no less, where Bitty knows all too well what a few of the regulars think of gay marriage; of people like him. He’s watched them, lifting their hands and hearts up while they sing hymns, the same hands that have shaken his after the service and asked about hockey and baking and girlfriends.

 _I’m gay, Mama._ The words rattle around his head – they’ve been there a while. _I’m gay, and Jack’s leaving, and I can’t bear the thought of not seeing him every day._

He doesn’t say it. What he does say instead is, ‘I love you, Mama. Goodnight,’ and then hangs up.

He has homework to do, classes to prepare for, his vlog needs updating, probably and yet he finds he doesn’t want to move, staying right there on the porch-steps in the relative quiet of the neighbourhood. The houses around him, including the LAX one opposite, are lit up from the inside, keeping themselves cocooned with end-of-year-assignments. Bitty should follow suit, he knows, but – just five more minutes.

It’s a lovely night, he reflects, absent-minded, turning his phone over in his hands. There’s that, at least. The phone-call _lingers,_ though. He claps his hands together, trying to fight down the tightness, vice-like, over his chest; closes his eyes and remembers to breathe.

When he opens them, something catches his eye: something just above the houses, in the sky, like a shooting star, hurtling in. For a stupid second, Bitty thinks it’s a meteor, incoming (‘Hockey House Destroyed By Flying Space Junk’ flies across his eyes in tabloid letters) but then he looks again and makes out the flapping of a coat, the shape of arms and legs. 

It’s a _person_ – a person in a long jacket, a person who is – for want of a better word – _surfing_ on a piece of board beneath their feet, towards the ground, in mid-air.

Bitty has a moment of wondering if the tub-juice, or Shitty’s supply of marijuana, or that final loss at Frozen Four and Jack actually allowing him to offer comfort - plus all the pies he’s ever made - have actually corrupted his mind, but then the person holds out their hands, levels up over the tree-tops and then hurtles towards the ground. Immediately, Bitty is dashing down the steps, hovering helplessly, feeling like Tim Allen in the first fifteen minutes of _The Santa Clause_ as the figure topples off the board, which is nothing more than uneven wooden debris and tumbles into the road in a far from perfect landing.

It’s a woman, he realises, a woman in strange, tattered clothes that dimly shine a dark, rich red beneath a streetlamp. Her mouth is open and she’s gasping, gasping for breath, struggling to keep upright, ragged sounds like pain that Bitty can hear across the road as he runs over towards her.

‘It’s okay!’ he calls. ‘It’s okay, ma’am, I’m coming!’

The woman doesn’t seem to hear this; falls backwards from a poor attempt to get to her feet, a tattered and ruined sleeve over her mouth, cheeks full as though she’s about to throw up.

And then, just as Bitty reaches her, her mouth wrenches open and Bitty gapes as, in a moment that could only exist in something like _Harry Potter_ – a golden, misty substance escapes the woman’s mouth, hovering in midair for a few seconds and then fading like smoke in front of her face, right before Bitty’s eyes.

She coughs a couple of times and then turns to look at him, a faint smile on smooth features and even in his shock, even under the streetlamp, Bitty can’t drag his gaze from those eyes that seem as bright as a full moon – vibrant and steady, gleaming with knowledge.

‘Made it,’ the woman manages, a hoarse croak that sounds rather alien to Bitty’s ears and then she falls back onto the ground in a dead faint.

‘JACK!’ Bitty races to support the woman’s head as he hollers behind him to the Haus. ‘JACK! SHITTY! I need help!’

*

‘No, not the couch.’ Jack carries the woman into the Haus as though she weighs nothing, carrying her into the hallway. _‘Not_ the couch, Ransom.’

‘For real though, where can I get that jacket?’ Holster is muttering, torn between clear concern and fascination, answered only by Ransom’s, ‘Bro, I know, it’s kind of early-twentieth-century-dinner-party-slash-rock-god.’

‘Do you think she’ll tell us where she got it when she wakes up?’

 ‘You can put her in my room,’ Bitty offers, trailing behind anxiously, Shitty’s hand on his shoulder, supporting him. ‘Can you –?’

‘Yeah,’ Jack decides, no arguments, and heads up the stairs. He’s quick, but careful; Bitty is braced, hoping the woman’s head won’t hit the wall or any banisters. He thanks the Lord he’s in the habit of keeping a clean room as Jack heads inside, lays the poor lady down on his neatly-made bed, gently shifting Senor Bun out of the way (even with the current situation, Bitty can’t help but feel touched) and adjusting her head onto the pillow.

‘Water,’ Jack orders over his shoulder and as one, Holster and Ransom rush off to do his bidding.

‘Lardo’s still trying to get hold of campus security,’ Shitty informs them seriously from the door, as Bitty hovers, while Jack leans over the patient and checks her breathing, her eyes, pats her cheeks. ‘Though brah, the Swallow would totally _kill_ for a photoshoot with that outfit.’

‘She fell from the sky,’ Bitty says again, aloud; the words fall off his tongue like stars, as if he repeats them, they’ll become true, more…believable. As if Bitty’s not going mad. One thing that goes some way to reassuring him though, is the fact that the lady currently lying on his bed is indeed wearing some of the strangest clothes he’s ever seen, trousers and a red velvet jacket that look ill-fitted and far too big for her; ridiculous enough to charm Shitty. She must have come from a costume party of some sort, though Bitty absolutely cannot place what she is dressed as, in her suit, rumpled and untidy, with ripped sleeves and cuffs, and absolutely _massive_ boots. He hesitates, then decides he’d want someone to do the same for him and goes to unlace the boots, which can’t be very comfy lying down, places them neatly at the end of the bed.

‘Can you hear me?’ he asks. For a moment there’s silence – then the woman’s eyes shoot open and she herself shoots upright on the bed, startling Jack backward. Bitty, Jack and Shitty all watch her; Bitty can practically feel their shared intake of breath; the woman seems to be having trouble focusing, her pupils – very, very bright and very, very clear – dart around in their sockets and then suddenly a huge grin breaks out on her face, like something joyful.

‘Hello,’ she greets; her voice immediately grips Bitty’s attention, it’s cool and clear and reminds him of chuckling streams. It’s also decidedly un-American; very strong, very eloquent, like an unshakeable pillar. She pulls her legs around as if to stand – hesitates and stares at her bare feet – and then puts her feet to the floor. ‘I’m the – ‘

‘No, no, stay still,’ Jack cautions as she attempts to get up, ‘you might have a concussion.’

She blinks at him, sits back down, looking mildly offended. ‘I’m – sort of in the middle of a thing, here, actually.’ She sounds offended, her voice deep as water and her accent definitely British, spinning her index fingers around each other in a ‘hurrying it along’ motion.  

‘Um,’ Jack manages.

‘Right.’ The woman’s smile broadens once more, revealing very clean teeth – dispelling the theory that she’s a tramp who’s managed to wonder onto the campus. She seems to drop Jack’s apparent offense with the same ease in which she rises from the bed, wobbling a little on the spot, but staying determinedly upright.

‘Now – where was I? Oh yeah. Hello.’ She gives the three boys a single wave. ‘I’m the Doctor. Don’t eat pears, don’t kick children or small animals, don’t blink and don’t wander off without telling me first. And if you do, rest assured I’ll be right behind you to clip you around the ear for wandering off to start with. Any questions?’

Well. They only made her acquaintance about ten minutes ago – actually, scratch that, she’s spent the last eight unconscious – so... no, basically and Bitty shakes his head slowly, answers for everyone in the room.

‘Do you know where you are?’ Jack asks in the background, breaking into Bitty’s thoughts which are racing a fair bit at this moment. The woman – the Doctor, apparently – replies by licking the tip of her finger and then holding it in midair.

‘2015. Spring. Little off-course, but…’ she shrugs. ‘I’ll take it. Oh, and…that’s new.’ She licks her lips, purses them, rubs her fingers together. ‘It’s not often I get dropped off on the other side of the Atlantic; I usually end up crashing down somewhere in London. Or tiny villages with swings.’

She wanders past Jack to the window, peeks out, takes in the world outside, it seems, or even the stars above it, her eyes fixed and very focused on the early summer stars shining down.

‘Samwell,’ she murmurs, says the word like a spell. ‘This is Samwell.’ She straightens up, a grin crooking over her face, looking very pleased about the fact. ‘Samwell University.’

‘Um, yes,’ Bitty says, mostly to fill the silence but also because no-one else seems to want to say anything. Plus, he was raised with good Southern manners. ‘Um, welcome.’

‘I lectured here once, back in the 90s,’ the woman murmurs, apparently lost in her own thoughts, ‘Possibly 80s? I can’t remember – only that mullets were a thing. Did they have mullets in 1998?’ She screws up her face, gaze drifting off to the side, trying to remember; the look offers a strange kind of concentration to her face. ‘Oh well. That was a good day. Even if the mullet did try and eat me.’ She smirks a little, running her hands through her hair – then seems caught by it, pulls it down to inspect it. ‘Oh, look at that. I’m blonde.’

She grins a little, paces on the spot as she runs her finger through her short hair, as if testing it.

‘Very blonde. Not ginger – still,’ she turns with a flourish. ‘You work with what you’re given. Oh, hello,’ she catches sight of Bitty’s mirror and goes to inspect herself, prodding and poking her face, running her hands down her own body. _‘Hello_ there, me.’

In the ensuing silence that follows, Bitty is very aware of Shitty and Jack exchanging a very particular look as the lady stares at herself in the mirror like a very critical version of Narcissus, inspecting herself from various angles and muttering all the while.

‘Arms, good. Legs, okay. What about the front – oh.’ Her hands land on her chest. ‘I’ve got these.’ She turns and meets Bitty’s eyes, smiling incredulously, hands cupping an area he’d really rather _not_ be looking at. ‘What do you think?’

Bitty swallows; in the background, Jack chokes, incredulous.

‘I’m not –’ Bitty manages, then changes tact. ‘Sorry – Doctor who? I didn’t get your surname, ma’am.’ He leaves it open for her to fill in; she, going back to stare at herself in the mirror, answers over her shoulder.

‘Smith. John Smith. Oh no, wait.’ She pauses, turns, eyes widening. ‘No, I can’t – I can’t use that anymore, can I? Jean Smith? Or – no, wait, just – just call me the Doctor,’ she waves a hand around. ‘I’ll sort out the details later.’

Thankfully, at that moment, Shitty’s phone loudly chooses to alert them to an incoming text and graciously interrupts Bitty’s already-derailed train of thought.

‘It’s from Johnson,’ Shitty comments, checking his phone. Bitty glances around; at a time like this, _really?_ But then Johnson’s always been a bit of a sporadic texter at the best of times.

‘What’s he saying?’ he asks; in the background, the Doctor is still closely inspecting her front. Bitty will take any distraction just now, even if it’s from their peculiar but well-meaning former goalie.

Shitty blinks at the text, reads it slowly. ‘It just says: _Feed her, bro.’_

Almost on cue, a drain-like rumbling fills the room – the kind you would only expect from a house full of constantly-active, constantly-hungry hockey players. Except it’s not Bitty, Shitty or Jack – it’s the Doctor herself, who looks suitably sheepish and runs her hand speculatively over her stomach.

‘Would you happen to have anything to eat?’ she asks, hopefully. Bitty immediately brightens.

*

And that’s how they end up in the kitchen, surrounded by pie dishes.

‘I wasn’t sure what you’d like, ma’am – Doctor,’ Bitty offers shyly, gives her a fork, laying out the food, including his latest creation, which was really intended for Jack, but what the hell, he can make another.

The Doctor smiles up at him – a lovely, strangely kind thing and then she puts a hand on his shoulder, gives it a squeeze that feels nicely maternal and makes Bitty consider his own mother, just for a moment. Jack shifts in his seat, watching closely, but the Doctor only grins and tucks in.

Messily.

 _‘Duuuuuuuuuude,’_ Ransom and Holster intone together, awe-struck, ducking to avoid the flying juices.

‘I like her,’ Lardo notes demurely, sitting opposite with a piece of pie she’s managed to rescue.  

‘This is brilliant,’ the Doctor compliments, her accent thick with fruit and pastry. ‘Usually takes me a bit longer than that to figure out what I want; but, better than coffee and chips. Happy Christmas!’ she raises the glass of milk Bitty’s offered and then lowers it again. ‘Except it’s not Christmas anymore is it? Brain’s still a bit blah.’ She downs the drink and swallows, wipes her mouth, continues eating.

‘Why are we doing this?’ Jack mutters to Bitty as he crosses the kitchen with another pie dish; Bitty, huffing, gives him a short smack on the arm. Crush or not, his Captain can still be discourteous.

‘Jack, look at her, for goodness sake. She’s obviously been through a lot, she…’

He cuts himself off, still not sure how to describe that he watched this woman falling from about a hundred feet up in the air and wondering if Jack will even believe him. He’s sure he knows what he saw and he can’t imagine how – skydive gone wrong? Stupid fraternity stunt? – and that’s before he describes the golden substance that escaped her mouth. Drugs, perhaps, but then Bitty can’t think of any drug that would do... _that_ to a person.

‘She probably just needs a bit of looking-after,’ he finishes and Jack raises his eyebrows, his sleepy eyes gazing in Bitty in a way that seems exasperated, but fond.

‘It’s things like this that makes me realise how much I’m going to miss you, Bittle,’ he huffs, reaching out to run a hand lightly down his arm.

And sure, maybe Jack’s trying to pause him or anchor him or something, but his touch is as warm as the sunlight over water. Even in the noise and confusion of the kitchen, Bitty can feel his pulse start to race at the simple touch of Jack’s fingers, is taken back to that moment just a week ago, when the colours of the other team were falling down around them and it felt like the whole word was falling down with it. Sitting together, side-by-side, weathering the storm of the thunderous, all-consuming sounds of joy from the other team.

This is _not_ helping Bitty’s crush any and maybe Jack senses his discomfort, because he clears his throat and lets go. Bitty watches as he turns to lean against the counter to stare hard at the Doctor; she seems either remarkably unbothered or blissfully unaware, making conversation with Lardo. Mind you, it is a strange conversation.

‘I’m really excited about being a woman,’ she’s saying to Lardo, who’s nodding slowly, sucking pie crust off a spoon. ‘I mean. They’re not going to expect me to start acting like _I’m made of glass,_ are they?’ It’s said with slight mockery, ridiculing such a notion, not that Bitty's certain how exactly it came about in the first place. Holster and Ransom, openly listening in, exchange a bemused look over the Doctor's head. 

 _‘Definitely_ not,’ Lardo, who is clearly enjoying the conversation, shakes her head patiently. ‘You can be whatever you want to be, Doctor Velvet. Love the jacket,’ she nods at the aforementioned red velvet jacket that now hangs over the back of the Doctor’s chair, ‘fight you for it.’

The Doctor chuckles richly, putting a hand to it. ‘Yeah, I looked good in it, didn’t I? Or he did. I might need a new wardrobe.’ She smirks. ‘Although I’m really looking forward to thoroughly outraging people in this get-up,’ she gestures to herself and Lardo grins at the notion, leans across the table with a fist. The Doctor blinks at the fist for a second and then carefully, slowly, bumps back.

Bitty, for his part, stands, contrite over the empty pie dishes, making an apologetic face at the rest of the kitchen.

‘Fresh out of pastry, y’all,’ he announces, to groans and a big thumbs-up from the Doctor, deep in her last slice of pie. ‘Have to be bagel bites tonight.’

The groans rising in response to his declaration are always flattering compliments towards his cooking, but food is food and Bitty cooks plenty enough for them, after all. Ransom goes to dig them out of the freezer while Holster is conscripted into helping Bitty clear up.

‘So,’ Jack takes the opportunity and sits down opposite the Doctor, Bitty shaking frozen bagel bites onto a tray in the background; his protective Captain mode is kicking in and there is, after all, a full-grown woman in his house full of young hockey players who’s just eaten half the food, ‘is there anyone we can call for you?’

‘Um…’ The Doctor thinks long and hard for a moment. ‘No, not really,’ she concludes, unhelpfully and then goes back to eating her pie. Bitty can’t help it; he giggles as he puts the bagel bites in the oven.

‘Is UNIT around?’ the Doctor asks brightly and before the others can even parse what she even means by that she seems to come up short, a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh no, wait, I can’t. I’m three years out; might cause paradoxes. Still.’ She twists her mouth and then rubs the back of her neck, wiping her mouth. ‘I can’t wait to see Kate Stewart’s face when she sees mine!’ She gestures to it, all bright eyes and grinning lips. ‘What do you think?’

‘Er,’ Jack manages; she doesn’t wait for him to finish and stands, plucking up from Holster’s wet hands, a silver pie tin and checks out her slightly blurred reflection in the base. For whatever reason, she can’t seem to stop checking her reflection.

 ‘It’s a nice face,’ Bitty volunteers, in an effort to bring her back to herself, carefully retrieving the pie dish and drying it. She blinks at him, seemingly taking a moment to come back to herself.

‘I hope so. The TARDIS kicked me out when I changed.’ She mulls on what she’s just said, regardless of the fact that it makes no sense to anyone else, her voice heavy. It’s ridiculous, but - there’s…something, something strange in her manner, that makes her seem older than she appears. ‘Maybe she doesn’t like me. Maybe she thought it was too much.’

She taps a finger on the table, bites her lip, looking subtly troubled. ‘I wonder if River would like it.’ She brightens, with visible effort, showing her teeth with a sudden hint of mischief in her British tones.

‘Who’s River?’ Bitty jumps on the name determinedly; the Doctor smiles widely as she looks his way.

‘My wife,’ she tells him, proudly and without preamble.

And yeah – maybe it’s silly because after all, this is _Samwell._ It’s almost a little hub; a place where gay students can hold hands and kiss in public without fear of prejudice and even if any does arise, it’s swiftly shot down by other students who protect their own, challenged, unignored. It’s the same among the staff - Bitty’s seen the wedding photo of Professor Rollins on her desk; she and her wife in a pair of beautiful white dresses – spotted Professor Haven climbing out of his car after kissing his lawyer husband goodbye.

And maybe Bitty’s still a bit sore after the conversation with his mother, bitter over the fact that he can’t talk about boys with her – or one boy in particular – that he can’t confide how he _feels_ to her, how he’s dreading the day when Jack leaves.

But he still finds hope, after all, in the future of those who proclaim themselves proudly.

‘You have a wife?’ he asks, sitting himself down beside her; the Doctor nibbles at a piece of pie crust, almost delicate.

‘Archaeologist,’ she replies and Bitty nods; a professor and an archaeologist would go quite nicely together, an educational pair. ‘Always was a handful. But then, that always made two of us.’

She winks, a certain naughtiness in the way she pronounces her words and Bitty giggles, charmed by this lady. He’s about to suggest that maybe they can get hold of River the archaeologist wife when Jack steps in between them, a cross-hybrid between Protective Captain and stern Hockey Robot.

‘If you’re feeling better, we can call you a cab, but I’m afraid these guys need to get to bed now.’

He says it in a tone that brooks no argument, but the Doctor just smiles; a tilting thing, completely unintimidated as she smiles up at him.

‘Jack Zimmermann,’ she proclaims and Bitty feels the tension emanating from him at the way she declares his name; with a certain kind of _knowing._ But when the Doctor smiles again, it’s oddly kind.

‘Hello,’ she tells him, something in her face gentle, and then gets to her feet, unexpectedly, like it’s some sort of formality. Maybe it’s just Bitty but she seems to match him in height. ‘Didn’t get a chance to talk properly before. Good to see you, Jack, and being a brilliant Captain, no less.’ 

Jack blinks; inhales, eyes narrowed and she smoothly cuts across him.

‘It’s alright. I know, Jack, I know. You look after your boys. You have their backs.’ She reaches out and puts a hand to his shoulder; Bitty cringes, anticipating Jack will step away from the touch but for some reason, he doesn’t. He’s gone completely quiet, his blue eyes confused. Mystified.

‘Are you a – fan, or something?’ he stammers finally, as if getting the words out requires effort; no-one else in the room seems to want to speak.

‘No, not really,’ the Doctor shrugs, ‘just…acquainted with your father. Good men, the pair of you. Keep it up,’ she beams at him, commending in tone, as she claps him, with considerable strength, on the shoulder; Bitty thinks he sees Jack wince. ‘Good luck with the Falconers.’

Bitty glances up because _wait, what?_

‘Wait – brah, have you signed?’ Shitty’s voice breaks the tension; very, very slowly, his eyes not leaving the Doctor’s, Jack shakes his head.

‘No,’ he says, the one word very heavy and very suspicious; the Doctor, for whatever reason, adopts a guilty look.

‘Whoops.’ Then she shrugs. ‘Well. Good luck with – whatever it is you choose.’ She takes on a rather exaggerated, faux-innocent expression of _nothing-to-see-here,_ shoving her hands in her pockets, like a kid who’s been caught with their hand in the cookie tin and is completely unapologetic about it. ‘But people are going to love you, Jack. I promise you, they’re going to love you so much.’

Jack’s mouth is forming a sound of ‘Wha –’ but then she steps away with a wink, plucks up the jacket that she’d taken off and tosses it over her shoulder, seemingly untroubled or just oblivious to the odd silence in the room that she’s just put there.

‘Time to fly,’ she shrugs. ‘Me, that is, not you, Jack, though I have a feeling _you’re_ going to fly a lot.’ She taps the side of her nose and then, for no other reason other than she apparently feels like it, whips out an arm and just manages to avoid smacking Holster in the nose.

‘Join the hunt!’ she exclaims proudly, bizarrely. ‘Eric, I loved the pie,’ she winks, moving her attention swiftly to him, ignoring Jack’s sputtering attempt to make sense of anything she’s saying. ‘I look forward to your first book.’ The way she says _book_ is charming – drawing out the ‘o’ in an ‘ooo,’ adding an extra syllable and Bitty decides he officially loves the British and should have them over more often, shouldn’t he, he thinks the rugby team have a Brit or two he could host –

Although he’s not sure he said anything about a book, did he?

‘Ah.’ The Doctor puts a hands over her mouth. ‘Doing it again. Regeneration. It’s a recovery process. See you around, chaps.’

In the wake of the stunned silence she seems content to leave, the Doctor turns on her heel, ready to depart with the same suddenness as she appeared –

And then a noise makes itself known: a strange, low, beeping sound. A strange, repetitive beating sound that Bitty knows he’s never heard before and judging by the look on everyone else’s faces, they’ve never heard it either.

‘Bro, is that the smoke alarm?’ Ransom asks, glancing out at the hallway; Holster shakes his head.

‘Nah, can’t be. I took the batteries out Thursday.’

_‘You –’_

‘Sssh!’ The Doctor puts a finger to her lips; she’s gone completely still in the middle of the kitchen, an arm spread out, palm flat against air. Her eyes, light and chocolate, are aware, alert. Searching, like a sudden prowler.

In front of them all, she reaches into a pocket and pulls out the strangest device that Bitty’s ever seen. His first thought is that it’s a gaming device, perhaps a piece of merch; it’s silver, but flashing shades of green and blue and beeping feebly.

‘Cool flashlight, bro,’ Lardo comments mildly, sipping a soda; as Shitty cocks his head.

‘Oh no,’ the Doctor murmurs and then suddenly she’s leaping into action, dashing through the kitchen, past Jack, looking into the cupboards, into the sink and even in the microwave, Tupperware and cutlery flying everywhere.

‘What – what is it?’ Bitty demands; when the Doctor turns, her face is very, very calm.

‘There’s a presence in this house,’ she tells them, every word a strong syllable, ‘that shouldn’t be here. Something completely peculiar that none of you were expecting.’

Jack and Shitty raise an eyebrow; Lardo, Ransom and Holster all make general noises of ‘Well, yeah, I mean…’ all of them indicating the Doctor with their hands.

‘No,’ the Doctor shakes her head, turning on the spot, her eyes on the vicinity. ‘Besides me.’

‘Dude…’ Ransom’s eyes go as wide as saucers; the Doctor turns towards him expectantly. ‘The Haus ghosts.’

‘Uh – no,’ the Doctor shakes her head, shoulders slumping. ‘No, besides _that.’_

‘Oh,’ Ransom drops his hands. ‘Wait, dude, what do you mean “besides”?’

The Doctor ignores him, drops down on her stomach in front of Bitty’s beloved Betsy, points her…flashlight-device-thingy at the door. Out of nowhere, a rattling sound comes from within; a scary sound, one that splashes panic down Bitty’s spine and only gets colder with the Doctor’s next proclamation.  

‘Eric,’ her voice is very calm, her eyes extremely focused and Bitty tries not to feel very, very scared. ‘Did you know that there was an alien in this oven?’  

*

_Half-an-hour later:_

‘They’re never gonna believe this at Harvard,’ Shitty is mumbling, shell-shocked.

‘Duuuuuuuude,’ Ransom and Holster intone from where they’re crouched in the middle of the floor, clutching kitchen utensils. Bagel bites, discarded, litter the floor, along with the tray.

‘That’s neutralised it,’ the Doctor proclaims blithely from the middle of the kitchen where the smoke is clearing around her while Lardo is running around opening the windows. In her hands, she holds her jacket, which is squirming feebly with the shape of something inside. ‘Oh be quiet, just get some sleep, you’ll be fine. Haven’t seen one of these in years, not since my scarf days. Well,’ she looks up with a shudder, ‘that was a bad day. Blue syrup everywhere like I’ve never seen and the King of Sweden never forgave me.’

She reaches within the folds of the jacket and retrieves the tiny blue, lizard-like creature, now unconscious, by the tail, holding it up for all to see. Shitty swears loudly while Ransom and Holster recoil.

‘That’s quite cute,’ Lardo comments, coming to have a better peek at the creature.

‘That’s an actual alien?’ Holster asks, fascinated despite his disgust, squinting - has one hand firmly anchored to Ransom’s arm as though hoping to prevent him from going into ‘coral reef’ mode at the revelation.

Bitty is less impressed.

‘Are you saying that - that _thing_ has been in my _oven_ all this time?’ he practically shrieks from where he and Jack are climbing down from the counter. Jack is still clutching the now-empty fire-extinguisher to his chest, now empty and panting hard. ‘How come I didn’t see it?’

‘Chameleonic.’ The Doctor grimaces a little, wrinkling up her nose and lays the sleeping creature down carefully on a chair. ‘It’ll sleep now for about eighteen hours, but yeah, it would have been pulled in by the smells – they’re _very_ good pies,’ she compliments Bitty, who’s not sure whether to preen or feel vaguely sick at the prospect, ‘they love very hot atmospheres, Kraillions. Very adaptable but they suck up power like nobody’s business and then they reproduce it tenfold and breathe it back out into the immediate atmosphere, which in this case turned out to be your oven. It only kicked off because it knew we’d caught it. Yes?’ she breaks off, nods expectantly to Shitty. ‘You’ve not got your hand up, but you’re rubbing your moustache; tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘Betsy wasn’t working properly almost as soon as Bitty arrived,’ Shitty is talking slowly, thoughtfully, ‘Like, more than usual.’

The Doctor taps the air, commending. ‘Exactly. Interfering with the energy, causing imbalances and ruining a far few pies along the way, I bet.’ She glances at Bitty for confirmation – his jaw drops, horrified.

_‘I burned so many cobblers – ‘_

‘Greedy creatures, Kraillions,’ the Doctor pats his shoulder, comfortingly. ‘The good news is - providing my TARDIS shows up in the next day or so, I can return it to its homeworld. But…’ she breaks off and glances at the oven with a grimace. ‘I’m afraid that’s it for poor old Betsy. This thing put up a fight and drained all the power before we subdued it.’ She meets Bitty’s eyes, sympathetic. ‘I’m sorry, Eric. I truly am.’

Bitty inhales sharply; Jack runs a hand over his back, but his eyes are narrowed on the Doctor.

‘How do we know you didn’t put that thing in there?’ he says, quietly, suspicious. ‘I mean, you just show up out of nowhere and suddenly…’ He gestures sharply at the creature on the chair. The Doctor doesn’t argue, just raises her eyebrows and nods slowly, as if seeing a point to Jack’s impatience. ‘For all we know, you could have put it there yourself.’

Bitty shakes his head sadly, eyes lingering on Betsy. ‘Jack, she didn’t go anywhere near the oven and Shitty’s right – she _has_ been acting up.’

Jack throws his hands up. ‘That oven was acting up before you got here, Bitty, that’s nothing new.’

‘Then she got worse,’ Lardo puts in, her voice deep, contemplative. ‘Bro, I thought the oven sucked before I went away. But when I came back from Kenya, she was on her last legs. Figured it was because she was being used properly and couldn’t take the strain.’

Holster and Ransom nod in the background, making matching noises of assent; Jack glares at them, exasperated.

‘Jack, look at me.’ Disregarding of the rest of the team, the Doctor steps right up to the captain; she’s almost as tall as he is, give or take an inch, or maybe it’s just her attitude, the way she exudes authority.

‘Look, look at me; right here, right now, you _need_ me. If I hadn’t come, this poor thing,’ she gestures to the aforementioned Kraillion, still out cold on the kitchen chair, ‘would have got bigger; fatter and fatter with the energy it absorbed from the oven and eventually made its own way out, unnoticed and crackling, like a time-bomb that doesn’t even know it’s a weapon. Now call me a bluff old traditionalist, but that doesn’t seem like a good thing to let loose on the public; you might as well release a massive dragon in the vicinity. If we hadn’t stopped it, then the whole campus – the whole country – would have been in very real, very immediate danger. Do you _want_ that?’

With every word, all friendliness falls away, stripped down instead to an authority to match Jack’s – or even to better it. Bitty realises he’s holding his breath and lets it out slowly as her eyes, dark and bold, hold Jack’s own, fierce and blue. Suddenly, she blinks, her face growing soft and she spins on the spot, turns away towards the window, staring out.

‘That’s why I was dropped here,’ the Doctor breathes, then adds with a shout, ‘Oh! She knew – oh, you beautiful old girl!’ She cranes her neck towards the sky, ‘that’s why you kicked me out. I was needed here. My first mission with my new face.’ She chuckles softly and turns back around, ‘And armed with nothing more than a fire-extinguisher and some helpful humans. Thanks to you lot, everyone on this campus can sleep safe tonight. You glorious, wonderful human-beings.’

She gives them all a huge thumbs-up. In the silence that follows this particular proclamation, Ransom and Holster declare ‘s’wawesome’ and bump fists; Lardo shrugs, looking pleased with herself and Shitty claps Jack on the back, giving him a kind wink. Smiling, the Doctor comes forward and wraps Bitty in a hug, kisses his cheek. Bitty blinks, surprised, moved, as she steps back, grasping his hand briefly.

‘Shall we go ice-skating?’ she asks cheerfully.

*

Watching the Doctor skate at Faber is a dream and a disaster together. She waves her arms around like a helicopter that’s really freaking drunk (as described by Holster) and co-ordinates between perfect trails and almost falling over, navigating the ice with a pair of spare skates. A sympathetic Lardo, wearing the red jacket the Doctor had shrugged off around her shoulders, commiserates from the edge of the ice but then the Doctor jumps into the air and performs a double axel and lands perfectly, much to Bitty’s shock and scattered applause from the boys.

‘You figure-skate?’ he asks, stopping next to her. Being on the ice again is a strange feeling; almost freeing. Nowhere to go, no-one to see, no teams to beat. No end destination in mind. He wonders if Jack shares this feeling, or if he feels trapped without the lure of competition.

The Doctor shrugs at the question. ‘Learnt a few tricks from Jackson Haines.’ She performs another little twirl to much _woohoo_ -ing and Bitty tenses as she only _just_ manages to land.

‘I went ice-skating with River, once,’ she smiles softly at Bitty, eyes coloured in memory. ‘It was her birthday. Cake, cards, Stevie Wonder. One of the best.’

‘Oh.’ Bitty swallows; that all sounds…really very nice, the kind of ideal date as far as he’s concerned and he’s unable to deny a slight simmer of envy. Then, because he’s interested, he asks, ‘What’s she like? Your wife?’

The Doctor looks complacent, reaches out for a hand that Bitty takes and before he knows she’s pulled him into a spin.

‘Vibrant. Clever.’ She dances with him, turning them on the spot and Bitty automatically leans backwards to give them balance. _‘Very_ dangerous. A lot like her parents, actually.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘Having some wonderful adventures of her own.’ The Doctor slows, drawing the spinning to a natural end. ‘But we had a good time. We’ve always had a good time when we get together. Because that’s the thing,’ she adds, suddenly solemn, still clutching both Bitty’s hands on the ice. ‘It’s always worth the pain to share something with someone. It’s _always_ worth the heartache, Eric.’

She stares at him for just a second, just one second for _something_ to cross her eyes – and then she twirls so she has her back against Bitty’s chest, her arms twining with his; not romantically, no, but he suddenly gets the sense that he’s holding her up from something. Supporting her from something only she can see.

‘You okay, Bits?’ Jack calls from the side, his own skates on, looking ready to whizz across and intercede if needed. Bitty feels the Doctor wobble slightly; quickly throws an ‘OK’ signal and a smile Jack’s way.

‘All good, thanks. Maybe,’ he swallows, leaning closer to murmur under his breath to the Doctor, very aware of Jack’s intense stare still on them, ‘maybe you being on the ice isn’t such a good idea, considering…’

He trails off significantly, meeting her eyes, hoping she knows what he’s talking about; the Doctor waves an airy hand around.

‘Not really, I only fell a few…’ she considers it, ‘three-hundred-thousand feet.’ And with that, she skates out of his embrace and away from the shocked look on Bitty’s face, promptly trips up.

‘Dude,’ Ransom comments from the side, sipping a diet cola.

‘We could’ve totally made a play out of _that,’_ Holster agrees, clinking their cans together.

*

‘You need to change clothes, those are filthy,’ Bitty lectures her back at the Haus, critically eyeing the tattered ensemble the Doctor’s still wearing. She, swinging her legs on the end of his bed, eating some fries (‘chips!’) that Lardo managed to procure for her, simply hums, glancing down at herself.

‘I suppose so,’ she comments. ‘Haven’t found a new outfit yet. I used to be into long coats,’ she says, looking thoughtful, ‘and suits. Pyjamas too, sometimes. At least the old me was.’ She grins, looking mischievous. ‘Need to find a new style.’

‘Well – at least let us help you get into something clean,’ Bitty suggests and then hollers into the hallway. ‘BOYS! Any clothes you don’t want, bring ‘em in here. The Doctor needs to change.’

‘S’wawesome,’ Holster and Ransom bellow from the attic, before the sounds of thumping and creaking – presumably the two of them raiding their wardrobe – are heard and Lardo and Shitty both yell out noises of assent before they start moving around their rooms as well, pulling their closet doors open.

In a very short time a pile of old clothes is on Bitty’s bed. The Doctor goes through them – finds a black hoodie from Ransom, a shirt from Holster, skinny jeans from Shitty (‘Skinny jeans, Shits?’ Holster exclaims while Shitty shrugs, unapologetic) and boots from Lardo.

‘Er.’ There’s a hesitant noise from the doorway and Jack enters, holding in his hands a long grey jacket. ‘I…had this in my wardrobe – it’s a bit snug for me, but I don’t know, it might suit you…’

The Doctor smiles at him, reaching out to accept the coat and laying it out carefully along with the other chosen clothes. ‘Thankyou, Jack. There you go, always having people’s backs. I _knew_ you’d be a good Captain.’

She grins at him as she removes her jacket and then promptly starts undressing right there in the middle of the room.

‘Oh, you’re – okay.’ Bitty, Jack, Shitty, Ransom and Holster all immediately turn their backs and focus very hard on the opposite wall, all steadfastly aware that there is a woman stripping down behind them. Loud comments to Lardo, who hasn’t bothered to turn around with the others, such as ‘Wait, what size do you actually think these are?’ really really help.

‘Okay,’ Lardo says a ridiculously long time later, making no effort to quell her laughter.

All turning around as one, the boys eye the Doctor, now clad in black, pulling Jack’s grey jacket on, her old clothes discarded all around her on the floor like a shed skin. She grins at them, pulling her hair out of the jacket, looking pleased with herself and then suddenly, her device…sonic…thingy…deposited on top of Bitty's chest of drawers, starts beeping again. Running to snatch it up, the Doctor checks it quickly and her eyes widen.

‘She’s here!’ she turns to the hockey team. ‘She… oh.’ She grimaces, looking up, caught. ‘That’s inconvenient.’

Bitty approaches, cautious. ‘What is it.’

The Doctor considers, bumping the device against her hand. ‘Ah… I know you’ve done a lot for me already, but… does anyone here have a car?’

*

The daylight is just peeking through when the car pulls up beside the forest; Bitty is jolted from sleep, belatedly realising that he drifted off on Jack’s shoulder. The Doctor is in the front seat with Holster, directing him while Ransom is begrudgingly squeezed in the back.

‘Yeah, here – here!’ The Doctor orders and Holster comes to a stop on the edge of the road, beside the edge of a forest. Bitty swallows nervously and glances at his cell phone; Jack, clearly sensing his anxiety, gives him a nudge as he glances out of the window, at the sun rising against the horizon.

‘Perfect.’ The Doctor careens out of the car and steps out onto the deserted road, looking up at the trees; desperate to stretch their legs, the boys all scramble out after her. Ransom and Holster sheepishly mutter something about needing to pee and disappear off into the bracken to the right; Jack huffs and leans against the car, rubbing his slightly tired face. Without meaning to, they ended up staying up all night.

‘Doctor – are you sure this is where you want us to drop you off?’ Bitty asks her back, eyeing the forest speculatively. The Doctor nods, standing by the roadside, staring up at the lush trees.

‘This is where I need to be,’ she murmurs. She turns around, smiles at him, adjusts her coat from where she’d slipped the Kraillion, still out cold, into one of the side-pockets; the boys had winced, but she had seemed unbothered. ‘Got to get going, Eric. Places to see, things to do.’

‘Okay…’ Bitty isn’t quite sure what to make of that, but something in the Doctor’s face – contented and set, even determined – tells him it’s a pointless argument. The Doctor smiles softly at him and then steps towards him, her face unbearably kind and, suddenly to Bitty, looking very, very wise.

‘You were the first face this face saw,’ she tells him gently, cupping his own with her own hands; incredibly soft hands but they feel heavy, somehow, as though they contain something that Bitty can’t see, the work of a thousand lifetimes. ‘And…usually I’d take you along with me. But I can’t, not this time.’

Despite himself, despite the madness of it, Bitty feels a tiny flare of excitement in his gut, warring with disappointment and something he can’t quite understand. ‘Why…why not?’

She smiles; like a chuckle. ‘Because you don’t need me to have an adventure, Eric Bittle. You weren’t scared of a total stranger who fell from the sky. You fed her and clothed her and sent her on her way.’ She leans forward and kisses his forehead; a long, loving kiss full of something gentle, sealing and sweet.

‘You’re going to be fine,’ she murmurs against his head, so quietly he’s not sure if he’s even supposed to hear it, but he does, and in that moment, despite only knowing this woman for one night (and not sure if he’s even really scratched the surface) it _means_ something to him. After everything – the last year, becoming friends with Jack and then faced with the deeply unsettling prospect that Jack means more to him than he actually should, and that he is going to have say goodbye in just a matter of _weeks_ – there’s something in those words that’s heavy with comfort. Like an anchor, weighing Bitty down from where his worries keep his constantly dancing on the tips of his toes: _relax. It will be alright._

He blinks, watching her step back with a final squeeze to his hands and then she turns to Jack, who folds his arms, eyeing her speculatively, still not altogether trusting.

‘For someone who’s been rather wary of me all night, you’ve been rather brilliant,’ she praises. Something softens in Jack’s face and he ducks his head, ostensibly to hide it.

‘I still don’t quite know who you are,’ he comments bluntly. The Doctor smirks a little, shrugs her shoulders and tucks her hands into the pockets of the coat he gave her. ‘You said you knew my Dad?’ he throws it out like a challenge, as if hoping to throw her off-guard.

‘I do – I did,’ she shrugs, gives a quick, non-committal jerk of her head. ‘Always tried to drink me under the table, but surprisingly efficient with a hockey-stick when you’re being chased by a mini-Ladaguia.’ She reaches out, rubs his shoulder. ‘Tell him I said hi.’

She winks at him, at his startled silence and steps back, as if about to turn and walk away – then she turns back around again, eyes thoughtful on Jack, before she strolls back across to him, leans in. For a heart-stopping second, Bitty thinks she’s about to kiss him – _no, not that, anything but that, I can take an alien in my oven but spare me that_ – but she just whispers something, very quiet and so soft, in his ear that Bitty can’t hear.

Jack’s eyes widen at whatever she says to him and when she steps back, she holds his gaze, smiles softly and when she retreats, he’s left blinking after her, clearly completely flabbergasted.

‘Jack?’ Bitty tries quietly; Jack just reaches out blindly and grasps his shoulder, as though in need of something to keep him upright and Bitty gladly obliges as the Doctor strolls over the road, to the edge of the forest, staring up at the trees.

‘I know you’re in there,’ she murmurs; her voice carries across the road, solemn and prepared. ‘I hope you’re ready for me.’

Then, with a final smile over her shoulder at Jack and Bitty, she pulls the black hood up over her head and heads into the forest, quickly sinking among the foliage and tree-trunks and disappearing altogether.

There’s a very long, shared silence between Jack and Bitty that’s only eventually broken by Ransom and Holster crashing out of the forest, both thumping each other and chatting loudly, their noise filling the quiet space.

‘Bro,’ Ransom notes, when he spots the way Bitty and Jack are staring into the forest, in the direction the Doctor has taken. ‘Where’d she go?’

Bitty blinks rapidly, forcing himself back to the present. ‘She’s…’ He swallows, trying to find the right words to describe it, the way the Doctor seems to have just _disappeared,_ when a sudden, strange noise, distant but distinctive – an alien noise, a sound like whooshing and wheezing – reaches their ears; birds fly from the trees over their heads, startled and the trees shift, disturbed by a strong, sudden breeze that completely contradicts the calm April morning. Jack pushes himself forward, eyes on the trees, something in his face utterly stunned.

‘Jack?’ Bitty dashes after him, puts a hand on his back. ‘What is it, honey?’ He curses himself for the endearment that falls off his tongue, but the look on Jack’s face is one he won’t soon forget. Holster and Ransom, leaning on each other, watch in concern, their own eyes also falling warily on the forest and on the unexpected, almost eerie silence left behind after that peculiar sound.

‘I’ve heard that noise before,’ Jack murmurs, turning to face him. ‘I – a long time ago. I thought I’d forgotten, but – I remember it.’ He glances back at the forest, a hand coming up to his mouth.

Bitty quickly, quietly runs a hand over his arm, recalling the way the Doctor came out of nowhere; the way she seemed to surf out of the sky. The events of the last twelve hours. A strange creature in Betsy. All things that seem fantastic, completely out of control, but were very, _very_ real.

‘Well – we _definitely_ all heard _that,’_ he comforts because Jack looks distressed, uncertain, almost as if he wants to go haring into the forest after the Doctor, to demand explanations. He nudges him gently, hoping to reach Jack, to reassure him; he’s not alone in this. ‘That was a weird _night,_ huh, honey?’

‘She was cool,’ Ransom chimes in in the background and Jack and Bitty share a look, something in Jack’s face softening, slacking as he comes back to himself, to them, before they both burst into slightly hysterical, sleep-deprived laughter. Ransom and Holster take that as their cue, stepping up to sling their arms around both their shoulders and lugging them back into the car.

‘Right, Bittle-Skittles and Cap. Come on, let’s get back to civilisation. We’ll grab pancakes on the way.’

‘Not as good as Bitty’s, but we’re hungry,’ Holster adds, hopping into the front seat. ‘Now that Bitty can’t bake for us, we’d better feed ourselves.’

The realisation hits Bitty like a brick, forgotten for a while in the whole sheer ruckus of the night, none of it distressing, per se, but _definitely_ peculiar. This though, _this_ is distressing – the knowledge that Betsy is no longer working, meaning he can’t bake and his wails quickly fill the car as Holster turns it around.

‘Don’t worry, Bits.’ Jack reaches out and puts an arm around him as they head for home. ‘It’ll be okay. We’ll sort something out.’

*

Safely back in the TARDIS, the Kraillion safely tucked away in a blanket in an air-conditioned pod until she can get him somewhere safe where he can absorb energy to his heart’s content, the Doctor takes her hood down, carefully removes the jacket that Jack gave her and places it reverently over the new pilot’s chair. The TARDIS has changed drastically, having kicked her out so she could redecorate, but she’s back now, but there’s all the time in the world to take it in. For now, she inspects the screen, takes in her reflection, just as she did hours ago.

Then she turns on the screen, pulls a handle, presses buttons as she watches the moment, two years from now, when Jack Zimmermann scores that final goal and secures the Stanley Cup for the Falconers. What he’ll do in the moment that follows will echo throughout the world and give so many people something wonderful to hang on to: hope.

They’re going to change history in so many ways.

‘Being saved by a thrice-winning Stanley Cup victor and his husband-to-be isn’t a bad way to start a new regeneration,’ the Doctor comments aloud to the TARDIS and it whirs and groans softly in agreement. Smiling softly, the Doctor checks the time and then makes movements around the brand new, shiny console. Can’t go back to the University, no; her time there is done and the man she was is no longer there. There’s _freedom_ in this new face.

Pulling a handle down, her stomach warm with pie and clean clothes on her back, she watches the universe fly past her on the screen. She’s got a Kraillion to return to its home-planet and then?

Well, then she’s got a _lot_ of work to do.

*

**Author's Note:**

> You've probably already spotted where the inspiration for the final scene comes from. :) And yes, for those thinking, 'Hah, this definitely doesn't match up with the trailer' - yeah, I know and I realise it seems arrogant to defer from what was already shown. At worst, please consider this a slight AU. If anyone would like to read the scene with UNIT, I can attach it in a seperate chapter. 
> 
> Fun fact: during an interview with Radio Times about DW, Jodie Whittaker was actually listening to Beyoncé at the time, which I took as a sign. Also, for those not in the know, Jackson Haines was a famous American figure-skater.


End file.
